Good Enough
by crashing.stars
Summary: Pure flangst, semi-AU. Mature themes. He always came back, but what happens when there's nothing left to gain? He is broken. Cuba/Canada, eventual America/Canada. My first fanfic EVER, so be nice and hit that review button.


A/N: My first fanfiction for so far. :D I'm happy~ Even though the fic is pure flangst. xD Oh wells. A songfic for America x Canada to the song Good Enough by Evanescence. AH DON"T KNOW CUBA'S REAL NAME (does he even have one?)! Also, the author is veryveryVERY **bad** with tenses. Bear with me, people. It's a really beautiful song AND video, if you haven't heard it yet, go check it out. But enough rambling. On with the fic~

WARNINGS: VERY random POV and tense changes (shut up I'm a nOOb.), mentions of sexual and domestic abuse, **heavily** implied sex, BOATLOADS of angst, mild swearing, drug/alcohol use, boy love (YAOI FTW!), and violence.

.:___good_.enough..___:.

_Under your spell again_

Matthew couldn't believe this. _Again._ Cuba had left him again for that damned Spain, leaving, _again_, only a note saying that he 'needed to stay for a few days at a business conference.' This had already happened, so many times he barely felt the sting anymore, barely felt the tears running down his face. Reacting still, of course, but essentially numb.

The tears came, faster now, as Matthew contemplated his gentle lover. How many times would this keep happening? Was he not good enough? The only way _he _would leave is if… if there's something wrong with him.

_I can't say no to you_

But Matthew would let him come back. He would always come back, lying sweetly, but at those moments, Matthew wouldn't even care. Because he was Cuba, and he was perfect, and, for at least a few more days, Cuba would be _his_. And that was truly all that mattered.

He wondered if the exotic nation had ever thought, for at least one minute, that Matthew knew. He did know, know how Cuba had spent the last few weekends on 'business' in a hotel with France, or at home with Mexico, or, usually, in Spain's house.

And Cuba didn't even consider it.

_Crave my heart and it's bleeding in your hands_

And so, every time the man would cheerfully return, kissing Matthew on the forehead, Matthew would fake a smile.

And every night he would run his fingers through the man's long, dark hair as they lay on the bed entangled in the sheets. Entangled through their eyes and hearts. "I love you." Matthew knew it wasn't true. He repeated it anyway.

Just so he could be his.

_I can't say no to you_

Matt truly couldn't deny the entrancing nation anything he wanted, whether it was a simple favor or a one night stand.

And that's how it always was. Every time he let go.

_Shouldn't have let you torture me so sweetly_

But the Canadian nation let him do this every time. It wasn't that he wasn't thinking, it's just that he wanted him. Truly and honestly. He didn't mind that Cuba would never be _all_ his. One night was usually enough. It is called lovemaking, right? He hoped so.

_Now I can't let go of this dream_

A sharp sound brought Matthew back to the present. What was that sound?

The Canadian looked around, trying to find the source of the terrible noise. He stopped when he realized that the sound was ripping it's way from his chest with every inhalation. Tears streamed down his face as he finally realized he was sobbing.

Kumajiro padded softly into the room, looking at his master's face sadly.

_I can't breathe_

Matthew sobbed even harder now, curling into a fetal position. _I'm so pathetic_, he thought. _No wonder Cuba wants someone else_. The crying was wearing on his lungs, each breath becoming more and more painful until he was gasping for breath on the floor, tears staining the carpet as his fragile hands clawed at his chest.

_But I feel…_

A sudden slamming of a screen door, a harsh sound in contrast to his fragile gasps. Heavy feet pounding, running in his direction. A cry of, "Matthew?"

And all was still.

He awoke not long after in the bed that smelled of his lover, Cuba's face peering down at him, concerned. A smile inched it's way onto the man's face as he noticed Matt was awake. Cuba hugged his weary body as he said, "I was so worried, Matthew! I came home and…" He trails off.

Matthew pretends it's true.

_Good enough, I feel good enough_

The nation smiles back, mirroring the ponytailed man who is now climbing off the bed. "Ne, I made dinner… if you're hungry, I mean…" says Cuba. Now that he mentions it… The warm smell of stew fills the house.

"Sure," says Matthew, immediately wincing after the words leave his mouth. His voice sounds rough and scratchy after his crying binge, and it hurts to talk. Cuba notices this, too, and smiles sympathetically, saying quietly, "Let's go." _So gentle_. So the pair leaves for the kitchen, Matthew's hand softly slipping into Cuba's.

_For you_.

After the delicious meal, Matthew sighs contentedly. He rubs his stomach, looking at Cuba, who laughs at this. "Hey," says the Cuban nation after a few seconds of comfortable silence. "Want some wine?"

Matthew hesitates. It _had_ been a while since he drank last, and he didn't tolerate it very well. But… Cuba would keep him safe, right? _Right_, his mind assured itself. So he accepted.

_Drink up sweet decadence_

The wine really was exceptional, thought Matthew as he downed his third glass. Or was it his fourth? It doesn't matter anyway, thought the petite man as Cuba refilled the glass with a smile on his face. "Drink up," says Cuba, his smile broadening into a falsely reassuring look.

Matthew doesn't notice as he picks up the glass and finishes it off.

_I can't say no to you_

"Wow, Matt, you look bushed," he says to a hiccupping Canadian, who nods blearily and slumps into his chest, filling his nostrils with the indescribable scent of the other man. Cuba chuckles and loops an arm around his lover, thankful that he cannot see the devious smile spreading across his face.

"You should really lie down." He says in a seductive tone, leaning down to nip at the other man's neck. Matthew moans.

_And I've completely lost myself and I don't mind_

Breathy sighs fill the room, accompanied by the occasional soft cry or creaking of bed springs. Matthew pants on Cuba's bed, his hair fanned out behind him, his cheeks flushed. Cuba has his hands on the waistband of Matthew's underwear when Matt finally manages to choke out, "C- _oh_- Cuba, maybe t-this is wrong."

He freezes at the look Cuba gives him. Previously preoccupied with his pants, the man looks up at Matthew through his legs. The look is pure anger. The room seems to go completely still as the dark-haired man says, "_Excuse_ me?"

"N-no, I just- _ahn_- meant t-that…" "Matt, do you honestly think I care if you're sober or not?" He gasps. "W-What?" "You heard me." Cuba has a look of almost amusement on his face as he observes the horror in Matthew's eyes.

Cuba's hand tugs down sharply, roughly pulling the man's last garment down his soft legs.

A scream begs him to stop. He doesn't.

_I can't say no to you_

He tries to get away, shrieking. But Cuba firmly pins his wrists against the headboard and has his way with him. He couldn't say no to him, every time he tried his mouth would be captured in a bruising attack, _kiss _would be too gentle a word.

_Shouldn't have let you conquer me completely_

Cuba truly owned everything Matthew had, he had taken it all. His kindness, his virginity, everything…

And now he had truly, even if by force, taken the younger man's body.

Matt cried as Cuba mercilessly, relentlessly continued his attacks. He had truly been conquered. And broken in the process.

Why did he love him so?

_Now I can't let go of this dream_

After what seemed like an eternity of that hell, Cuba finally stopped, collapsing with a loud groan onto the bed. In the heat of the moment, the older man had briefly let go of Matthew's wrists and he fled, running away, tears streaking his face. Cuba, exhausted, had made no motions to follow him. But it didn't matter. The damage had been done.

It was raining outside, and Matthew had on only his oversized military jacket. Clutching the beige fabric around his body, he sprinted outside anyway, finally making it to Cuba's tomato garden before tripping over a tree root.

He stumbled and fell harshly. With a cry of pain, he curled up on his side.

_Can't believe that I feel good enough_

He couldn't believe what had just transpired. Matthew just simply couldn't absorb it. Numbly, he curled into himself even farther as cold drops landed on his body. He sobbed as he realized that, all along, he had probably been just another fling for Cuba.

Trying to feel positive, he thought, "Well, screw him. Who needs Cuba anyway?" He stopped his train of thought abruptly as he realized something.

He did.

_It's been such a long time coming, but I feel good_

He knew it would have happened eventually. Why not make a clean break of things? _Yeah right_, he thought. That was nothing like what he had envisioned their eventual parting to be.

In his mind, he saw the scenario he had envisioned so many sleepless nights, considering it, revising it, rejecting it. It didn't seem real or right that one day he'd actually have to let go for real.

And that Cuba would do this.

_And I'm still waiting for the rain to fall_

Matthew slowly got into a kneeling position, mud staining the hem of his jacket. He looked up at the sky, not even blinking as the cold raindrops landed on his face.

Maybe then he could convince himself he wasn't crying.

The Canadian stayed there, just looking up, for what seemed like ages. What more of a reason did he have for his life? The man who had taken everything from him, who had said that he loved him, was gone.

_There's no reason to hang on anymore, is there_? He thought.

Another day had passed. The sky, clouded over, had not made that apparent. Even if it had, Matt wouldn't have moved. His knees had given out hours ago, reducing him to the same fetal position he had been in before. Darkness was eating away at the corners of his vision now. There's no reason. He screamed.

Everything went dark.

_Pour real life down on me_

The same cold rain awoke him, stinging his cheeks and eyelids. _W-What? I'm still alive?_ Thought Matthew. He found he could not open his eyes any longer, but he could still, at least to some extent, hear. Soft rain hit the already soaking earth, making small dripping noises.

But then, a much louder, nearly startling sound took its place.

A yelling voice. Oh god, Cuba was here again? _NO, NO!_ his mind screamed. He curled up tightly, clutching his damp jacket around him as he screamed, "STAY AWAY FROM ME!" He sobbed loudly, his fingernails digging harshly into the pliant ground.

Another voice? And another? _What's- What's going on?_ With a jolt, he realized the yelling voice was not that of Cuba, nor were the other two.

America?

'_Cause I can't hold on to anything_

"DAMNIT, MATTHEW. Don't you- Don't you DARE give up!" It was definitely Alfred. Then the other two were-… Arthur and Francis?

He felt them all drop to their knees, Arthur screaming something to Alfred. He couldn't hear their voices very well. It felt as if he was fading. He wasn't surprised, he'd been out here for- what, two days?

Francis was shaking him now, begging him to stay with them, it's alright. It's not alright. It will never be alright. He somehow managed to choke out, above the pouring rain, "J-just let m-m-me die. P-please-" He was cut off by a sharp hand slapping him, the contact raw and harsh against his weathered skin. "D-Don't_ EVER_ say that."

His eyes just wouldn't open. He couldn't hang on. _Let me die._

_Am I good enough?_

Matthew suddenly felt very- warm? No, that wasn't it. Safe? Yes. Safe, secure. He had almost forgotten how that felt. The curious sensation slowly spread though him, filling his body. _If this is what death is like_, thought Matthew, _it's not so bad_.

Another drop of water hit his face. But this time it was warm. _What's that? _Another drop, this time. Matthew had to know. So, with possibly the greatest amount of effort the Canadian had ever expended, he finally managed to open his eyes, the lids fluttering up and down slowly. Was-Was that someone's face above his? So the drops had been…

A gasp. Followed shortly by a second. A call of "_L'Angleterre_, get in here!" His vision still blurry, Matthew blinked a few times and groaned, slowly turning his head to the source of the noises.

His eyes were finally adjusting to the harsh lighting of the room, and he was able to fully see the three men. His eyes welled up with tears as Matthew said, "Alfred, Francis, Arthur… I…"

And their arms enveloped him.

_For you to love me too_

The nation's father figures let go as Francis looked at him. "_Desolee"_, he said. Matthew laughed. The sound seemed to put the whole room at ease. "For what, _papa_? I'm fine, thanks to you guys." He smiled at Arthur and Francis, before realizing America was still clinging to him.

Alfred cried into Matthew's shoulder as he whispered, "Don't _scare_ me like that, man."

He promised.

_So take care what you ask of me_

Arthur finally spoke, breaking the spell of that perfect moment. "M-Matthew." His father's voice shook, and the Canadian looked up in shock at his father, who was crying as well. "If you'd like to stay with- with us… then we'd…"

He didn't even need to finish asking.

'_Cause I can't say no_


End file.
